


Critical Position

by SenorLemur



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Chess, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenorLemur/pseuds/SenorLemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of course, a good chance of a favorable reaction meant that there was still a converse chance that Wells would rebuff him and that he would be humiliated, but the idea that something could happen between them had percolated in Hartley’s mind until he had been forced to start masturbating in the morning before work rather than after to avoid getting excessively distracted by the fantasy."</p><p>Hartley invites Dr. Wells over for more than dinner. Pre-explosion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Critical Position

Hartley checked his watch for the seventh time in four minutes. It was six twenty-seven in the evening, three minutes until the time he had asked his guest to arrive. He had been ready for the past half an hour, anxiously inspecting and re-inspecting himself and his apartment for any signs of untidiness in a state of agitated anticipation. The one-bedroom space wasn’t large, but his salary allowed him to afford a decently trendy place in a good part of town. Tonight, however, it felt like he might as well be entertaining in a cardboard box.

Sucking on an ice cube until it made his teeth sore, Hartley reassured himself that if he wanted, this Saturday evening could be nothing more than a private dinner with Dr. Harrison Wells. It was an opportunity many people would kill for- or, at the very least, pay tens of thousands of dollars at a charity auction for. They would eat, talk shop, play chess, say goodbye, and see each other at the lab on Monday. Yet, as pleasant as that sounded, it wasn’t what Hartley really wanted.

He found it ironic that the catalyst that had given him the courage to execute this evening was the recruiter from Mercury Labs. Like any good salesman, the recruiter had been trying to flatter him away from S.T.A.R. Lab’s particle accelerator project for weeks by telling him that his time and talents would be better spent on tachyon technology. When he realized this was his out, Hartley had finally summoned the nerve to too-casually ask Dr. Wells if he would like to join him for dinner at home sometime, and his invitation had been graciously accepted. If things went poorly, he would simply save himself the embarrassment of pretending everything was normal and call the headhunter Monday morning to say that he would love to join Dr. McGee’s team as soon as possible.

He had admired Dr. Wells long before his employment at S.T.A.R. Labs, and his admiration had grown into a deep infatuation that bordered on sexual obsession as they had worked side-by-side for the past two years. The personal mentorship was more than any young engineer or physicist could dream of, but then there were the casual touches, the moments of too-long eye contact, the exclusive chess breaks and verbal praise. Hartley hated to think he was falling into some sort of idol-worship or fallacy of hasty generalization, but over the past year he had considered their interactions and, when he was in an optimistic mood, felt that there was a relatively good chance that Dr. Wells might react favorably to a sexual advance. He knew Wells had been widowed more than a decade ago, but from his experience, a man being previously -or even currently- married to a woman didn’t always have much bearing on whether he was interested in other men. Of course, a good chance of a favorable reaction meant that there was still a converse chance that Wells would rebuff him and that he would be humiliated, but the idea that something could happen between them had percolated in Hartley’s mind until he had been forced to start masturbating in the morning before work rather than after to avoid getting excessively distracted by the fantasy.

At precisely six-thirty, Hartley’s phone rang- a request from his apartment’s main entry. He hastily buzzed Dr. Wells in, cringing internally as he realized that he hadn’t even bothered to pick up and greet him. His apartment was on the third floor, and he took a few moments to try and not seem too eager before the knock on his door arrived what felt like too soon. 

Harrison Wells greeted Hartley with a warm smile, a firm handshake, and a bottle of Highland single-malt. “It appears I’ve arrived precisely on time. Thank you for having me over, Hartley.”

“It’s my pleasure, Dr. Wells,” Hartley replied, as he took a moment to examine the scotch. _Quinta Ruban. Well-played, Dr. Wells- generous, but not too extravagant,_ he thought. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Of course I did- and it’s Harrison, please,” said Wells with a small laugh. Hartley noticed he wore only a wool scarf and leather gloves over his typical black blazer and t-shirt despite the chilly November temperatures.

“Well, Harrison, may I get you something to drink?” Hartley set the bottle on a countertop in the kitchen. He watched Dr. Wells remove his soft, cashmere-lined gloves, and had a momentary vision of the buttery leather smacking hard across his bare ass. With a concentrated swallow, he turned around and adjusted his glasses.

“Wine would be excellent,” replied Harrison. He kicked off his shoes and began to make a quick circuit around the open floor plan of the living and eating area. “You’ve got a nice place here. And dinner smells amazing.” He made eye contact with Hartley as the latter pulled the cork out of a bottle of Barolo. “I’m starving.”

The evening went almost too well. The short ribs and roasted vegetables were, as Hartley expected, delicious. Hartley had never had a great interest in cooking, but when the need arose, preparing a meal didn’t intimidate him; if someone couldn’t do something as simple as measure precisely and follow written directions, their food deserved to turn out lousy. Even a single bottle of the wine he had chosen was a splurge, but he was glad he bought two, as the first quickly emptied over the conversation that inevitably turned to the construction of the particle accelerator and the day-to-day drama, frustration, and humor of working at one of the most revered and scrutinized physics laboratories in the United States.

 _He seems to be having a genuinely good time_ , thought Hartley as he cleared away their plates. He himself had found the evening to be surprisingly enjoyable in its own right, and the wine and easy conversation had made the time feel effortless. He told himself again that this could be a pretty damn good night as it stood. Yet, when he glanced back at Harrison, draped unguardedly over his chair and sipping a glass of water, the twinge in Hartley’s stomach told him that damn good wasn’t good enough. He wondered if he would actually have the nerve to ask for what he wanted by the end of the evening.

“Why don’t we sample some of that bottle over a game?” said Harrison suddenly, nodding over to the bottle of scotch still on the counter and snapping Hartley out of his train of thought.

“Why not?” shrugged Hartley. He felt Harrison watching him impassively as he set out the chessboard and two whiskey glasses on the table. “White or black?” he offered as a poured them each a glass of the copper-colored liquor.

Harrison chose white, and Hartley tried not to appear surprised when he managed to checkmate him during their first game; he wondered if it was a pity-loss. Black lost the second game. Hartley was still nursing his first pour of scotch when they agreed to a best two-out-of-three series, and Harrison was on his third. As much as Wells drank, his concentration never seemed to slip and his eyes still flashed with bright intensity. Another 50 minutes passed and the tie was broken.

“Mr. Rathaway, that looks like checkmate,” announced Harrison as he moved his Bishop to trap Hartley’s King.

“So it does,” said Hartley, trying not to sound disappointed that he had been bested by a relatively straightforward endgame with two Bishops and King.

“There’s always another game,” replied Harrison good-naturedly. He paused to stretch his arms over his head, a sliver of skin revealing itself briefly between the waistband of his jeans and the hem of his shirt. “It is, however, getting somewhat late.”

“So it is.” Hartley immediately felt like a moron for practically repeating himself, but it was all he could do to keep his composure while his mind raced. _It’s now or never._ There was a moment of awkward silence as he finished the rest of his drink in one swallow and briefly looked down to adjust his chair.

“Well, I had a wonderful time tonight,” said Harrison, breaking the pause. “Excellent food, excellent wine, and excellent company. Thank you.” He beamed at Hartley with that small, enigmatic smile. 

“Again, it’s my pleasure.” Before Harrison could push his chair back, Hartley summoned every last nerve and shred of false composure left in his body to smoothly slide his hand under the table to rest on the other man’s thigh just above his knee. “I had a great time as well.” He hoped his hand wouldn’t start to shake.

Besides the slightest twitch of his right eyebrow, Harrison’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, so the real Endgame emerges,” he remarked, with what was almost a hint of amusement in his voice.

Hartley couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing. 

“Was this the reason you went to such pains to entertain me tonight?” asked Harrison softly, looking Hartley in the eye without embarrassment or confusion.

“Yes,” admitted Hartley tightly as he pulled his hand away. He pushed his chair back and stood up, moving a few steps to stand nearer to Harrison.

Harrison looked up at him, still not moving. “You do know that a relationship between an employee and myself is grossly unethical, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you realize that I expect nothing but professional conduct and discretion at the lab, no matter what my employees do in their personal time?”

“Yes.”

“You must also understand that I have no intention of presenting myself to the public as anything other than a scientist married to his work.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hartley finally managed. His pulse was rocketing in his throat, and he felt like they had been staring at each other for much longer than the conversation had taken.

“I simply want to make my expectations clear, Hartley,” said Harrison calmly.

Hartley could hear himself swallow. “Is that a yes?"

“It’s certainly not a no.”

Rather than waste his breath with a reply or sigh of relief, Hartley merely leaned down and kissed Harrison, supporting himself with one hand on the table and the other on the back of the other man’s chair. As many times as Harrison had touched him with a casual hand on the shoulder or arm, he instinctively resisted touching his mentor back until invited.

Harrison’s mouth was open and encouraging. One hand snaked around the back of Hartley’s neck to draw him closer, while the other threaded itself into the fingers that braced themselves on the chair. Hartley had fantasized about this moment dozens of times, and he would have felt disbelief, even suspicion, at his incredible fortune if it wasn’t for the exquisite aches of arousal that twisted through his stomach and groin. Harrison’s skin felt hot, fever-hot, and Hartley shivered as he felt warm fingertips slide down the nape of his neck under the collar of his shirt.

When they broke the kiss, Harrison’s eyes were bright. He licked his lips and released Hartley’s hand to remove his glasses and tuck them in the pocket of his blazer. “Well, it would appear you are indeed a man of many talents,” he remarked as he reached up to idly stroke the growing erection under Hartley’s trousers.

Hartley squeezed his eyes shut and gasped as he felt that warm hand touch him through his clothing. He tried not to buck his hips, and he felt Harrison let go of his neck. When he opened his eyes, he was met with Harrison’s unwavering stare, blue eyes now dilated with their own excitement. “Dr. Wells,” was all Hartley could manage softy as he straightened up and let out another shuddering breath while Harrison’s thumb gently continued to trace the outline of his cock.

Harrison released him after a few more seconds and pushed back his chair to stand up. He pressed himself against Hartley and kissed him again, less tenderly this time. Hartley felt consumed as Harrison's tongue pressed hungrily into his mouth, and slender, strong arms reached around him to un-tuck the back of his shirt and stroke the small of his back. The scent of expensive, feral-smelling cologne and the sensation of Harrison’s swelling cock against his own made him feel dazed with lust. 

Wondering vaguely at what point he went from feeling like the seducer to the seduced, Hartley separated from Harrison. Still silent, he took the other man’s wrist in his hand and led him toward the apartment’s single bedroom, looking back to make sure Wells was still willing to follow. Harrison went along compliantly, and gently closed the door behind them once they were inside. Even though Hartley would have let Harrison fuck him against a trash can in the laboratory parking lot, he was glad he had taken the time to make his low, simple bed and shove his books, projects, and minutia out of sight to keep the space neat in case of an eventuality exactly like this one.

Harrison freed himself from Hartley’s grasp, and the latter watched as he took a moment to fastidiously remove his blazer and drape it over the chair that paired with the small desk in the room. Hartley felt another acute twinge in his cock as he saw the graceful definition of muscle in Harrison’s arms and the outline of his nipples peaking underneath his thin white t-shirt. 

They were in each other’s arms again, and between urgent kisses and deft fingers unbuttoning his own shirt, Hartley pulled Harrison’s t-shirt off over his head, revealing more of that slender, enviably muscled body. He ran his fingers down Harrison’s chest and over his stomach, and bit back a moan as he felt Harrison’s hands slide down his belly to roughly unbuckle his belt and trousers. “Hartley, what do you want?” purred Harrison as he slid the younger man’s pants and boxers down over his ass until they pooled around his ankles.

“I want you to fuck me,” breathed Hartley, holding the other man’s gaze. Naked to his socks, he stepped out of his trouser legs and looped two fingers around Harrison’s belt, drawing him toward the edge of the bed until he was able to sit down, legs slightly apart, his cock fully erect with a drop of clear moisture beading on the head.

Harrison looked at him for a breath, and then was on top of him. Hartley arched his back as he felt the rough denim of Harrison’s pants and the swell of the erection underneath between his legs as they ground their hips together. He reached blindly for Harrison’s belt, clumsily unfastening the buckle and unbuttoning his jeans. Harrison pulled away from him, and Hartley’s breath caught in his throat as he felt warm, slender fingers reach down between his legs to stroke his opening. 

“I’m going to need something to make this comfortable for you,” said Harrison as he pulled his cock out over his boxer-briefs with his other hand and began to touch himself.

“In the drawer in the night table next you.” Hartley scooted back on the bed and rolled over onto his stomach as Harrison stood up to retrieve the lubricant. He had long fantasized about Wells bending him over and taking him from behind; in the lab, in his bedroom, in the bathroom of his favorite restaurant- practically anywhere Hartley was on a regular basis, he had imagined those hands squeezing his hips and warm breath on the back of his neck.

Hartley looked over his shoulder and saw that Harrison had removed the rest of his clothing and was rolling a condom onto his length. Dr. Wells didn’t strike Hartley as the type of person to keep condoms stashed in his wallet, but he really didn’t care. Harrison smiled at him as he slid onto the bed on his knees and ran one hand over Hartley’s ass while he coated his sheathed sex in lubricant with the other. Hartley drew himself up on his hands and knees and moaned as he felt a slick thumb tease a circle around his opening, and then two hands parting his buttocks.

“Please, Dr. Wells,” he begged as he felt the head of Harrison’s cock nudging his ass. 

He heard Harrison sigh with pleasure as he eased forward, and Hartley clutched the bedspread underneath him as he felt Harrison slide fully inside of him. A heavy gasp that became a low, drawn-out moan escaped Hartley’s lips as he felt the delicious pressure of Harrison’s cock filling him. He bucked his hips back instinctively against the other man’s body, and after a few thrusts felt Harrison lean forward, his lips grazing the nape of Hartley’s neck, and his right hand reaching around to tease his anxious sex.

“Is this what you wanted, Mr. Rathaway? Do you find it a satisfactory outcome to your hypothesis?” Harrison breathed softly as he continued to thrust slowly and deeply. 

Hartley thought he couldn’t get any more turned on until Harrison addressed him formally. He tilted his head so that he could see Harrison above him out of the corner of his eye. “Yes,” was all he could pant as he felt Harrison smearing the pre-come leaking from the tip of his cock around the head and down his shaft.

“Excellent,” growled Harrison, letting go of Hartley’s cock and righting himself again. Harrison began to ride him unapologetically hard, fingers biting into pale skin where he gripped Hartley’s hips almost too-tightly, slim pelvis pounding relentlessly against his ass, and Hartley relished every second. Each thrust was a bolt of white-hot pleasure through his body, and Hartley was rigid on the edge of orgasm as he reached between his legs to touch himself.

“I’m going to come,” he sighed thickly, and immediately cried out as Harrison began to drive into him even harder and faster than before. A few seconds later, the orgasm shook through him and Hartley spent himself in streaks across his hand and his bed. While he was still seeing stars, Hartley felt Harrison stiffen and ride out his own climax with a sharp, stifled moan.

Hartley let his knees go out from under him as he felt Harrison withdraw, and he unceremoniously wiped his hand on the now-soiled bedspread, breathing hard. His glasses had somehow ended up on the floor on the other side of the bed, and he reached over to retrieve them, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he put them on and the world came back into focus. Sitting up, he covered himself with a pillow and turned around to see Harrison putting on his underwear. 

“I confess that for once I’m at a loss for words,” said Hartley quietly while he watched Harrison put his jeans on.

“Then best not to say too much,” replied Harrison, sitting back on the bed to lean over and kiss Hartley on the forehead, a strangely affectionate gesture. “I hope that was enjoyable for you. I assure you it was for me.” He brushed a warm, dry hand down Hartley’s arm before getting back up and pulling on his t-shirt.

“Are you leaving?” asked Hartley stupidly, even though he wasn’t surprised that Harrison would choose not to stay no matter how much Hartley wanted him to.

“I would prefer to go home and sleep in my own bed, if it’s all the same to you,” replied Harrison, threading his arms into his blazer and replacing his glasses.

“Let me at least see you out,” said Hartley, pulling on a pair of drawstring pants and a hoodie he fished out of the dresser near his bed. After dressing under Harrison’s watchful eye, Hartley looked up to meet him and reached out to tentatively rest his hand on the other man’s arm. “Will this happen again?” he asked in a moment of rare earnestness.

“If you would like it to,” replied Harrison mildly.

“Yes.” Hartley looked away and went to open the bedroom door for Harrison. For some reason he felt like an embarrassed high school student admitting as much under Wells’s even gaze.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the foyer of the apartment building. Harrison turned to face Hartley and took his hand in a parting handshake. “We’ll do great things together, you and I,” said Harrison kindly. Hartley flushed despite himself and Harrison drew him close without embracing him. “See you on Monday, Mr. Rathaway.”

Hartley squeezed Harrison’s hand one more time before they separated. “See you on Monday,” he replied simply before Dr. Wells gave him one last smile and went through the door into the November night.

**Author's Note:**

> A Critical Position in chess terms is when you come to a point in the game where your next move will have a major impact on the course of the rest of the game.
> 
> A Critical Position in business terms is a role that is key for fulfilling the strategic goals of the organization. Or its founder.


End file.
